


The Skin You're In

by dreams_of_destiel (fOreverer)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Protective Castiel, Protective Sam Winchester, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:23:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fOreverer/pseuds/dreams_of_destiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel brings up the old scars Dean used to have when he sees some new scars on Dean's arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Skin You're In

“Dean, are you hurt?”

Dean jumped at the sudden sensation, Castiel’s hand on his arm.Specifically, his forearm which was currently covered by the sleeve of his jacket. A jacket Dean had rushed to pull on as soon as he saw the angel appear.

“No, Cas, I’m fine. So are you here on official angel business or is this just a social call?”

The angel was not deterred by his nonchalance.

“But, your arm, Dean , I wasn’t aware that you’d been injured in any hunts recently.”

“Recently? No, but a while back we had some trouble with a rogue...werewolf. Thing left some scratches, but...” Dean shrugged “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

The grating sound that was the motel room key turning in the lock announced Sam’s return, just as Castiel opened his mouth to continue. “How long ago was that, those marks look as though...”

“It’s nothing Cas” Dean cut him off with a panicked glance towards the door. Sam was clambering through the doorway, stooping slightly to avoid knocking his head. The take out packages were rustling so much that, with any luck, he hadn’t heard anything. Forcing a lazy grin, Dean reached up to pat the angel’s shoulder, winking easily as he did so “Don’t worry.”

The wink had the desired effect. Castiel peered at him curiously for a moment, before blinking hard and averting his gaze. _How to Diffuse an Angel:_ a guide by Dean Winchester. Dean couldn’t help but sigh in relief, as Sam hastened to question Cas about his arrival. A worried Cas was one thing, but Sam, well, Dean didn’t need that in his life.

 

* * *

 

Dean wasn’t sure why he even did it anymore. It had started as a way to vent his frustration. His dad refused to talk about Mom, when he was not hunting he was in bad temper, unpleasant to be around. Sometimes it would all get to be too much, whether it was sadness or anger, loneliness or frustration. The only thing left to Dean was this.

The first few times had been nothing but chicken scratches. Childs-play, quite literally. Dean could remember clearly his absurd worry that John might notice the tiny, shallow cuts. In the beginning, that was what kept him from going further. The thought of it now was absurd, both because the cuts had been no worse than a graze from a thorn bush, practically invisible to anyone that wasn’t Dean and because the idea of John voicing concern about a couple scratches was laughable. Not just laughable, it was self-centered. Dean knew it was true and it didn’t take too long, what with John constantly reminding him that he didn’t do enough for Sammy. Soon he was going deeper, pushing the blade harder and more often.

If John noticed anything, he kept it to himself.

 

* * *

 

Dean was visibly flustered when Sam entered the motel room. Sam put that down to Cas. Sam tried to suppress his grin as he turned away to shut the door behind him. He wasn’t blind, he could see the way Dean was around the angel, even if Dean couldn’t see or admit it himself. Sam wanted to give them time to realise it for themselves, he was prepared to wait. Though it sure was getting awkward, Sam felt as if he was interrupting something important, the way Dean’s eyes snapped to his face as he came through the door. Feigning ignorance tended to be the best thing to do in these situations. Sam began an enthusiastic interrogation of the angel, whom they hadn’t seen in some time, hoping that he was giving Dean his space to cool down.

 

* * *

 

Castiel remembered every moment of the time he had spent rebuilding Dean Winchester’s body. He had had to reshape and remould every part of the hunter, to make the ruined body fit for a soldier again.

Dean’s body had been torn apart by hellhounds, then his soul was ripped to pieces in hell. Dean Winchester was scarred before he ever entered hell, though hell left him with the type of scars that never heal.

Scars. That was what he had seen on Dean’s arm. Not very many and not very deep. Though quite fresh, they looked as though they would heal quite readily.

Castiel remembered seeing similar scars on Dean. The body that Dean died in had been covered in them. They ran the lengths of his arms and thighs, they scattered his hips and chest. Castiel had memorized every inch of Dean’s body, he had wanted to remake it perfectly. Scars aside, that was what he’d done. Castiel couldn’t bring himself to give Dean back his old scars. Dean deserved as few reminders of the pain he had suffered, both on earth and in hell, as possible.

 

* * *

 

It was the scars, Dean realised, later that night, when Sam had fallen asleep. Even after his dad had left, even after he died, Dean loved the look of them. He loved making them too, the power it gave him. He decided where each mark went, how it would look. It gave him total control, something that, all too often, felt beyond his reach. _He_ was in charge of what he did to his own body, not his dad, not anybody. But there was no denying it, whenever he’d messed up, with Sam, on a hunt, _anything,_ this was pretty much guaranteed to make him feel better.

 

* * *

 

“You used to have a lot more of those”

Dean gaped at Castiel, at a loss for words. He couldn’t mean...

“What?” he eventually sputtered. He’d been about to head into the shower, he was still dressed in the t-shirt he’d slept in. Usually he was okay, Sam had never noticed, what, with it being early and dark or whatever. Usually, however, an alert angel, who didn’t need sleep, wasn’t in their motel room before he’d even had the chance to brush his teeth.

“A lot more of what?” Sam was using a towel to dry his hair as he padded around the motel room. Dean figured he had about ten seconds before his hair stopped being Sam’s main concern.

Cas was on the point of continuing when Dean cut across him.

“Cas don’t-”

The angel fixed him with a strange look, full of something Dean couldn’t place. Sadness wasn’t the correct term.

“A lot more balls, maybe. Cas, did Dean ever tell you about this cat that jumped out of a closet at him, this one time? Was it the fact that it actually came out of the closet that scared you Dean or...”

Sam stopped short, having finally approached the bed. He looked down suspiciously at him, Dean couldn’t really blame him. In those ten precious seconds, Dean had made a cocoon out of the bedclothes. Only his head and the tips of his fingers, which were gripping the sheets under his chin, were exposed now.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you? I assume this is for Cas’ benefit, not mine?”

The question hung in the air as both brothers looked at the angel. Dean silently willed the angel not to say anything. _Please Cas, he can’t know. I don’t want him to know, don’t tell him, please shut up..._

“Cas, a lot more what?”

The angel refused to answer him, a testament, Dean supposed, to their _more profound bond._ At least it was finally proving good for something. Dean enjoyed one short moment of relief before he felt the covers being torn from his grip. Sam had physics on his side, there was nothing Dean could have done.

_Maybe he won’t notice._

“Oh my God”

Clearly, he’d noticed.

“Sam, stop ogling me” Dean stood up quickly, angling his body away from the pair beside him. “I’m going to go take a shower _in peace,_ thank you very much”

“Dean, stop” Sam took one giant step and was suddenly blocking Dean’s escape. His hands, which had been outstretched towards him, hung uselessly in the air, for a moment, before Sam drew them back hurriedly. _He’s cringing_ Dean thought. He doesn’t want to touch you, of course he doesn’t.

“Sam, you’re in my way”

“Did you do this?”

“Did I do what?”

“Did you do this to yourself?”

“Dude, we get cut up on hunts all the time, it’s no big deal”

“Dean, we have to talk about this” “TALK ABOUT WHAT?” Dean finally exploded, the tension of the moment too much for him to bear. “Do you want to look, Sam? Go on, take a nice long look at me” Dean held in arms out in midair. He looked for himself at the sight that he usually only saw in the privacy of the bathroom.

His arms were nowhere near as bad as they’d once been. Cas had been right in the respect. When he was younger he’d favoured his forearms, a stereotypical wrist cutter. Though he hadn’t stopped there, he’d carved up the entire length of both his arms. After hell he’d been more cautious. He’d stuck to his thighs, chest and hips, none of which Sam could see right now. Well, Dean glanced down, about half of his thigh was visible, but thankfully not too many scars descended as low as the ends of his boxers. Rasing his head, Dean realised he shouldn’t have taken the look. Sam, was glancing down now. Dean could see cut in particular, it had been recent, vertical and foolish. Running most of the length of his upper leg, it peaked out under the edge of his boxers and ran further towards his knee.

_Fuck this._

“Had enough? Cause I have.”

Dean shoved Sam away from him. In a moment he had crossed the room, slamming the bathroom door shut behind him. The click of the lock was resoundly satisfying.

“And don’t you dare come flying in Cas, you hear me?”

Silence from the other side of the door told him he had. Dean waited, his forehead pressed against the cool wood for a couple of long moments before he heard a low murmuring. Running a hand through his hair, Dean turned to look at himself in the mirror.

His face was slightly red, shouting tended to do that to him. Other than that he looked ok. His head was pounding with a headache. Dean didn’t know if he’d woken up with it or if it had been brought on by the incident. In a moment Dean had pulled his t-shirt over his head, allowing himself to see the scars that had been previously hidden. Silently, he thanked his lucky stars that he hadn’t slept bare-chested.

_Fuckity fuck fuck fuck._

The phrase ran through his mind on loop. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Dean knew what he’d usuallydo at times like this. Reaching behind him, to turn on the shower, Dean thought wistfully of the razor blade he kept hidden in his shower bag, for moments like this. Moments when he felt absolutely helpless, useless or pathetic.

_Or in this case all of the above._

It probably wouldn’t be wise, Dean rationed with himself, to cut himself a, literal, new one, with Sam and Cas on the other side of the door, aware for the first time of his scars. No, that would have to wait. This would all blow over, Dean reassured himself. One long shower later and surely everything would be fine.

* * *

 

It wasn’t fine.

Sam demanded to know everything. He’d even demanded to see them, though Dean had refused. It wasn’t like he could pretend nothing had happened, Sam had seen the truth for himself. How much truth was revealed, well, Dean figured if he was careful he could get away fairly easily.

“It used to help, Sammy, I don’t know what to tell you” Dean was sitting on his bed, Sam pacing opposite him. Castiel had gingerly seated himself beside Dean. It was strange to see the angel in such a casual position, usually he stood, never-tiring, ever-watching.

“But why Dean? Why didn’t you ever come to me, talk to me? I could have helped, you wouldn’t have had to deal with this alone.”

“Well it’s okay now, Sam so no worries”

“But Cas said you used to have so much more...you were doing this before hell?”

“Sam don’t make this more awkward”

“It’s not awkward, I just want to understand”

“Look I-whoa” Speaking of awkward. Castiel was pressing his fingers underneath Dean’s shirt-sleeve. It was the gentleness of the action that surprised Dean into inactivity. He merely watched, as if in slow motion, as Cas rolled up the sleeve of his shirt.

“Do you remember the one that was right here?”

Dean gulped. The angel had traced a line with his finger, along the length of Dean’s wrist, halfway towards his elbow.

“And the other one, matching, on the other side”

Of course Dean remembered. In the years afterwards he’d come to think of them as the _Stanford Scars._

“Those two were different to any other scar on your body, to any other that you inflicted upon yourself”

“Cas stop it”

“I would wonder how you survived it, except if anyone would survive, it would be you, Dean Winchester”

“What is he talking about?” Sam’s tone was sharp. This was not going the way Dean had planned.

“You must have had help. With that kind of blood loss, there’s no way you would have survived without assistance”

“ _It was Bobby, okay_ ” Dean hissed, hoping Cas would get the message. Unfortunately, Sam did too.

“Bobby? What does he have to do with this?”

“Bobby helped patch up your brother after his suicide attempt.”

“Okay, it wasn’t a “ _suicide attempt”_ ” Dean scoffed, making the air quotes with his hands. “It was the most I’d ever had to drink and a shitty weekend”

“Most people don’t get drunk and try to kill themselves”

“Yeah well, most people don’t get ditched by their brother and left with _fucking_ dad!”

Sam was visibly taken aback. “This was the weekend I...this was because of me?”

“No, Sam, of course it wasn’t” Dean closed his eyes, groaning internally “It was never because of you, that’s the fucking point”

For a moment there was silence. Dean could hear his blood pounding in his ears.

“It was because of dad?”

“Isn’t everything?” Dean hadn’t intended to say that aloud. He shook his head. “No, Dad had nothing to do with it. I was just a screwed up kid, who was too pathetic to make it without his geek brother. No biggie”

“But-”

“Why are we even still talking about this?” Dean stood, hoping to emphasize his words. “That was a long time ago.”

“We need to-”

“Get going? My thoughts exactly. Cas are you gonna come with? I’ll even let you ride shotgun?”

Sam looked as if he wanted to say more, but Dean didn’t give him a chance to. Like the flick of a switch, the moment was over as suddenly as it had begun.

 

* * *

 

Dean ran a hand over his hip, feeling the raised line beneath his finger. He liked the feel of them. Sometimes feeling them was enough. No need to make more.

“Cas?” The angel glanced up from the book he was reading. Dean didn’t know if it was for fun or research. The idea of angels doing something for fun was somewhat alien.

“You know how you said earlier that you remember every part of...” he didn’t know what to call it. _Me?_

“Yes, Dean.”

“Do you think you could...show me?” he hated himself for even asking, but the idea had become firmly lodged in his brain, since the events of the morning. A part of him missed them, he realised. They had been a big part of his life for a long time. Sam was out grabbing food so Dean knew they had some time. He had to see it.

“Are you sure you want to see that?”

“Yes” Dean had never been more sure in his life.

“Of course” the angel stood, closing the book with a gentle snap. Three steps brought Cas before him. The angel lifted his hand.

“Wait” Dean took a deep breath, aware that this would send the cat racing down the street, let alone out of the bag. But he had to do it. Slowly, Dean removed his shirt, exposed the scarred and raised flesh to the angel’s gaze. Upon seeing it, Cas’ eyes filled with that strange look again. It was with a jolt that Dean realised it was the expression he’d long since given up on seeing.

Concern 

“Just do it, please” Dean spoke quickly as the angel looked reluctant to act.

“As you wish”

A touch to his forearm, a gentle pressure, that was all it took. Then Dean was taken back several years, to a time before he knew Castiel, to a time when he had lost all hope.

“Wow, I really went to town on myself didn’t I?”

This time the angel didn’t smile. Dean was finding it hard to smile himself. The sight was shocking, he hadn’t been quite as prepared as he thought he was. His arms were so torn up, individual scars were often indistinguishable. Turning his wrists upwards, Dean was faced with what had once been a taunting reminder of his own weakness and of the worst day of his life.

“Can you...”

Before he had even completed the sentence Cas had done it. The scars vanished, replaced with the ones he bore today.

“You told Sam you no longer did this to yourself”

“I know” 

“You lied”

“I know”

“I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself”

“What? Why would you even care?”

“Why would I even-” the angel broke off, shaking his head. Dean had never seen him look so human. “I thought I’d made it pretty clear, Dean, that for some reason or another I do care. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, I don’t want you to hurt.” “Don’t tell Sam”

“I won’t”

“Cas?” the angel looked up just in time to see Dean close the gap between them. He licked his lips, an action Dean had watched him do a hundred times before. Dean did the same, feeling the angels eyes on his own lips as he took the angel’s face in his hands. He pressed his lips to Cas’, just for a second but it was enough. He rested his forehead against Cas’ as he whispered between them

“Thank you”


End file.
